


The cabin in Cornwall

by Serendipitous_dreamer42633



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 21st Century, Coronavirus, In lockdown, M/M, Surprise portkeys, muggle crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipitous_dreamer42633/pseuds/Serendipitous_dreamer42633
Summary: Harry Potter is currently on the run (used loosely) from the dark side of the wizarding world. Trapped in the muggle world in lockdown during the Coronavirus, Harry finds himself extremely bored. But how long will his peace last?
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Harry Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Harry eased himself back into the leather armchair opposite the crackling fire. He’d made the fire the muggle way, hacking down the small birch tree outside his cabin. He’d grown quite fond of that tree - the only birch tree surrounding the house, but, needs must. The fire was blazing now, shooting sparks of heat towards him. It was blissful. 

In spite of the current turmoil of the world, he felt at peace.

Harry switched on the television, bracing himself, ready to see panicked Muggles screaming and shouting.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the news didn’t report any curious magical sightings, or flashes of emerald green light. Like usual, the news parroted exactly the same thing; stay inside. 

It had been like this for months. Harry was sort of on the run. On the run was used very loosely these days, by Harry, anyway, considering the world was in lockdown. Both the muggle world and more gradually, the wizarding world. 

A few weeks ago, Harry had taken refuge in the abandoned muggle cabin, somewhere on the coast of Cornwall in England, on the Lizard. 

Albus Dumbledore had, somewhat forcibly, transported him there, believing it would be best for his safety, and he’d been stuck there ever since. He wasn’t able to get much word of the wizarding world either. Communication was growing a lot more infrequent, even from his best mate Ron, as the wizarding world was moving towards some kind of lockdown. The minister for magic was reportedly still struggling stop the Quidditch World Cup, let alone evacuate students from Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were both extremely stressed, and both panicking in their own ways, which Harry preferred not to interfere with.

While Harry was glad he was away from all the chaos, he had to admit, he was  _bored stiff_ .

Sure, the cabin was extremely comfortable, and very secluded, but after transfiguring objects and practicing spells, there wasn’t that much he could do to entertain himself. 

He tried not to complain though. In spite of everything, he was mostly safe. At least, for now.

No one had come looking for him yet. No one of real danger.

Dumbledore, who tried to stay in contact as much as he could, reported that a few Deatheaters had escaped out of hogwarts and gone roaming southwest England, but truthfully, Harry wasn’t too fussed. He was more relaxed than he’d ever been in years, and Dumbledore had communicated that ages ago. With no more news from him, Harry had just assumed everything had gone to plan, and they’d been recaptured.

He was, of course, very, very wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a loud crack, and Harry could make out irritated voices coming from the kitchen.

A voice that sounded a lot like his old transfiguration teacher shrieked; “he’s safer here! Can’t you see! Yes they’ve been reported round here, but they won’t find him, not with all the charms myself and Professor Flitwick cast on the house-“

She was interrupted by an angry male voice; “he’s like a damn sitting duck! Merlin’s beard, Deatheaters could be knocking on his door asking for a cup of tea and cake at any minute!”

“Do you listen to anything Mr Black?!” The pitch of the female voice rose, “I said, myself and Filius put protection over this house and-“

“But it won’t be enough!” Sirius Black shouted, “they’ll kill themselves to get in, you know they will!”

“Mr Black - are you questioning my ability to do magic?” The female voice which Harry was now quite sure was Minerva McGonagall, became cold and stern. “Because I can assure you I am more than capable.

There was a loud huff in reply, and Harry tried not to laugh. He got up, switching the television off, and approached the kitchen to greet his visitors.

At the sight of him, his godfather’s grimace transformed into a grin; “Harry!”

“Hi Sirius,” Harry hugged him tightly, and then said hello to the other slightly bedraggled witches and wizards in the kitchen. He recognised the windswept hair and rumpled robes all too well - the result of a very badly timed surprise portkey. The only person who looked somewhat unfazed was, of course, Minerva McGonagall, his old transfiguration teacher, although her cheeks were a little flushed, probably from screaming at Sirius.

“So…” Harry began, a little nervously, glancing round at the people in his kitchen, “Whats up?”

“What’s up?” The gruff voice of Mad-Eye Moody rasped. “What’s up?!” He shuffled closer to Harry with a clunk of his wooden leg, “What’s up is that you’ve got more than a couple of Deatheaters after you!” Mad-Eye put a large hand on Harry’s shoulder, “and we’re here to help get rid of the buggers!”

“Uh… well thanks, but I think I can handle a couple of Deatheaters!” Harry laughed uncertainly, but Moody’s face became sterner.

“Harry,” Remus Lupin interjected, “a couple of Deatheaters is putting it lightly.” Next to him, Tonks was staring at the floor very intently.

“You’ve got almost all of Azkaban after you, Potter.” McGonagall said shrilly.

Harry stared at her in disbelief.

“Jaw up from the floor Potter,” Moody snapped, “that’s why you’ve got us.”

“Half of Azkaban!?” Harry could barely believe it. “How? How did they- “

Lupin sighed deeply. “The minister of magic had to relax measures due to the Coronavirus because believe it or not, Azkaban isn’t the most hygienic of places. Normally they wouldn’t care too much if people died in there, but when it comes down to the trials and questioning…”

“So they just let a ton of Deatheaters go free?” Harry was having trouble understanding the sanity of this plan, but then, he reasoned, the ministry of magic was always a little … immoral.

“Well, not just like that of course. Its a little unclear as to how it happened actually. Most of the people working at the ministry have coronavirus and are off sick.” Lupin swiped a hand over his brow. “While the Muggle world the death tolls are pretty high, they are nothing compared to the destruction Coronavirus is having on our world.”

Tonks nodded in agreement; “its chaos, Harry. We were thinking of transporting you back to the wizarding world, but the Muggle world is a lot safer right now, loose Deatheaters and all.”

Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. “What about Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys?”

McGonagall slumped against the kitchen table. “Coping the best they can. Everyones coping the best the can, obviously, but…”

Moody shook his head gravely. “It doesn’t look good for any of us Potter - muggles or wizards.”

“What about Dumbledore? How’s he- “

“He’ll be coming round shortly.” McGonagall interrupted. “Tomorrow, early morning.” The witch glanced around; “Time, Harry?”

“Midnight.” Harry answered, realising just then how tired he was.

“I’ll take the sofa with Remus.” Tonks volunteered. “Is it big enough for two?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah, I’m sure we can squish up!” She winked at her husband, and then grinned at Harry, marching past him into the bathroom.

“The living room is the other door!” Harry called after her, smiling.

“Yes…” Tonks said, emerging from the bathroom. “Seems a little cramped in here and there’s certainly no sofa!”

Sirius chuckled softly, and then turned to Harry.

“You can have my bedroom,” Harry answered the unspoken question, “and I should be able to put up a truckle bed in the guest room.” Harry would take a sleeping bag and go to bed in the landing. He didn’t think he’d get much sleep though anyway. Already a million questions seemed to be forming in his mind.

Sirius and Moody headed upstairs, but McGonagall stopped, and gave Harry a worried smile, concern in her eyes.

“It’ll be alright, Potter,” and then; “it has to be.”

For once, Harry didn’t believe her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to apologise for the short chapters! My brain doesn’t seem to want to write more per chapter! :)

There was a firm knock on the door at what time Harry could only call as an ungodly hour in the morning. 

Bleary-eyed, Harry stumbled out of his sleeping bag to the door, feet echoing on the cold stone floor. He vainly tried to flatten his tangle of black hair, but as usual, it was untameable. ‘Lucky Dumbledore’, he thought - assuming it was Dumbledore on the other side of the door - ‘most witches would die to see the most famous wizard’s bedhead’. Harry allowed himself a small self-righteous snigger, and then opened the door.

The man standing opposite him looked almost as tired as he felt. In fact, Harry reasoned smugly, Dumbledore probably looked an awful lot worse than him. The poor man had tattered purple robes, and icicles hanging down from his nose and beard. He was shivering profusely, and smelt very strongly of pondweed.

“H-Harry,” Dumbledore’s teeth chattered between each word, “you don’t think you could get a nice fire going, do you?”

“Of course Professor,” Harry said, stepping back to let the older man inside.

Dumbledore followed him to the living room, settling himself down in the leather armchair, while Harry made up a fire.

“The Muggle way I see.” Dumbledore observed, a small smile on his face.

“Oh!” Harry started. “Right. Yes, magic would’ve been quicker, sorry-“

“No no,” the man said good-naturedly, “I do admire the muggle way - it’s quite relaxing to watch you know.”

“Right. Well, um, would you like anything? Uh, perhaps a change of clothes?”

“Ah yes,” the Professor’s eyes twinkled, “a nice biscuit should be nice. I do like Muggle taste an awful lot. Digestives, is it?”

“Uh yes, I think I have those.”

“A staple in the Muggle diet!” Dumbledore said delightedly. “Custard creams too?” 

“‘Fraid not Professor.”

“No worries at all my boy. Now, how about a change of clothes? I should have another gown in my pocket, if I could just have some privacy?”

“Uh, yes. Yes,” Harry blushed, “I’ll just, err, get the biscuits.”

Dumbledore watched him go, and Harry, now fully awake, hurried into the kitchen, trying not to think about his Professor changing gowns. He shook his head, confused. ‘Get the damn digestives’, he told himself.

A few minutes later, Harry returned to the living room, holding two plates of biscuits and a warm glass of brandy for Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was dressed in a very expensive-looking deep blue and gold gown. 

Harry handed him the plate, and sat opposite him on the sofa.

Dumbledore thanked him and chuckled at the brandy. “Just the stuff, eh Harry?”

Harry grinned in reply, then asked; “how did you end up looking ... like you did when you got here?”

The older man’s eyes sparkled, and Harry felt temporarily dazed by the blue of them.

“Well,” Dumbledore took a long gulp of brandy, and began, “it all started going wrong when I left the wizarding world. A very angry duck and an accidental portkey to Antarctica...”

Harry laughed, and leant forwards in anticipation for one of Dumbledore’s fascinating, although slightly crazed, tales.

Sensing Harry’s interest, Dumbledore settled himself into the leather armchair and continued, the fire slowly dying out, ignored. 


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours later, Harry and Dumbledore were interrupted by the muffled voices from the room next door.

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiled, draining his brandy, “it seems we have rudely woken our guests; Remus Lupin and Nymphadora.”

‘ _Our_ guests?’ Harry shook his head and brushed the thought away.

“They’re in the living room next door,” Harry explained. 

Dumbledore nodded knowingly, a sparkle in his eyes.

Harry stared at his hands 

awkwardly.

“The sofa is bigger.” He blurted, trying to fill the small silence that had ascended.

“I see...” Dumbledore nodded again, seeming to file this information away in his mind.

“Err...” Harry glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the clock.

The older wizard followed his gaze. “Eight o’clock already - time really does fly when you’re having fun doesn’t it?”

“Um yes, I suppose so Professor.”

“Oh, no need to call me Professor, Harry.” Dumbledore’s voice lowered; “unless, of course, you’d like to?”

Harry stared at him, trying to ignore the somewhat sexual undertones to Dumbledore’s suggestion. “Uh, well, I don’t know,” he stammered, cheeks flushed, “I guess I’m just used to calling you Professor, I don’t know-“

“Well,” Dumbledore stretched his back and yawned, “you think on it, my boy. Now, breakfast!” The man rose from the armchair and winked at Harry.

A few seconds later, Harry stood and followed Dumbledore into the kitchen, his stomach doing somersaults.

“Wotcha ‘Arry!” Tonks grinned at him from the kitchen table.

She had helped herself to several slices of toast and strawberry jam.

Remus, orange juice in hand, smiled at Harry in greeting. “Hope you don’t mind Harry, but we -Tonks- were getting rather peckish.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine, yeah, take what you want.” Harry inwardly cursed himself for not stocking his fridge the day before. But then, he reasoned, how was he supposed to know he’d be feeding six hungry wizards and witches.

Dumbledore headed straight to the cupboard and began to rifle through Harry’s rather lame collection of Muggle cereal.

“Cheerios?” The headmaster’s voice echoed. “That’s not a Muggle version of Cherri Owls is it Harry?”

“I’m afraid so Professor.”

Tonks looked up, interested. “Pass me some eh Dumbledore?”

“No! What a cheap knockoff I mean, really! Here, have some, uh...” Dumbledore squinted at the packets, “whats this Harry?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder, “Coco Pops, Sir.”

Dumbledore made a noise of pleasant surprise, and Harry felt his heartbeat quicken.

“Chocolate for breakfast; don’t mind if I do!”

The older man brushed past Harry and sat beside Tonks. 

Harry gazed longingly at the Cheerios, a cereal he’d become suprisingly fond of, even if they weren’t as good as Cherri Owls. He liked having something other than toast for breakfast, burnt toast reminded him too much of the Dursley’s. He missed the banquets of food at Hogwarts, the scrambled egg, sausages, and bacon, but more importantly, he missed goddamn Cherri Owls. 

Cheerios were the closest he could get in the Muggle shops, and unlikely to be out of stock despite the Coronavirus.

Oh fuck it, he wanted Cheerios.

Albus’ eyes glinted as Harry sat opposite him with a large bowl of Cheerios and milk.

“Hey Harry, give us a taste!” Tonks leant forward with a spoon, only to pull a face at the Cheerios. “God Harry,” she said, between crunches, “they’re bloody AWFUL!”

Harry stuck his tongue out at her. “I like them.”

“Suit yourself.”

Above them, there was a large thudding, and then Mad-Eye Moody’s gruff voice; “wheres the bacon and egg then?”

Sirius Black followed, rubbing his eyes, along with McGonagall who was scowling at Mad-Eye; “honestly, take what you’re given!” She hissed at him, but Harry grinned.

“Morning!” Dumbledore waved a hand at them. “Fancy some C-o-c-o P-o-p-s? I’m quite enjoying them.”

“Oh Albus!” Minerva immediately rushed over to him. “You’re here! How was the journey? As bad as we feared?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry tried not to choke on his milk, recalling the story from last night.

“Much worse I’m afraid, but, oh! Don’t fret my dear Minerva!” (McGonagall had begun flapping her arms frantically, doing a rather good impression of the angry duck from Dumbledore’s journey).

“Would you like some toast Minerva?” Tonks asked the slightly hysterical witch, and Lupin, still standing by the fridge, popped some bread in the toaster, and, on second thought, some for Sirius too, who had slumped in a chair with his head on the table.

Harry’s godfather was not a morning person, and nor, did it appear, was Alastor Moody. Mad-Eye was reluctantly spooning Coco Pops into his mouth, both his magical eye and his real eye transfixed on the table.

Harry glanced around at all of them. What a family. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, want to apologise for the chapters being so small! Sorrrryyyyy! I’ll try and work on them getting longer but I think I’m getting a bit of a block!

“So, Professor, what’s the plan?” Harry asked McGonagall, a little cautiously, as she was still quite agitated.

“For goodness sake Potter,  _Minerva_ is acceptable, and as for a plan...” she eyed Dumbledore, “we’re still devising one.”

Harry glanced at Dumbledore who was now reading the cereal packet, and chuckling to himself.

“ Albus ?” McGonagall’s voice sharpened, and she glared at the wizard. Harry remembered how much offence the witch took to being ignored, no matter how powerful the other person was.

Tonks elbowed Dumbledore.

Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow and said, in a peeved voice; “yes Minerva?”

“The plan?” McGonagall’s voice went up an octave.

“Well, my dear Minerva, surely we must wait for them to come to us?”

McGonagall let out a displeased huff, saying; “we have to go and seek them Albus! We can’t just wait-“

Sirius frowned - “what were you saying yesterday about protecting this cabin with charms?”

McGonagall glared at him. “I don’t doubt the safety of this house, but I think perhaps it would be better for us to attack, and then we can return to the wizarding world sooner.”

“But what about quarantine?” Tonks queried. “Don’t we have to stay here until lockdown is over in the Muggle world?”

“Of course not,” McGonagall said crossly, but then she looked at Albus and said, “we don’t, do we?”

“I don’t know.” Dumbledore sighed. “But I do think we should seek them before they grow more powerful, and before innocent muggles get hurt.”

Lupin nodded in agreement, and smiled at Harry. “I think some of us should go, and some should stay.”

“Well,” Moody raised his head from his breakfast, “that seems obvious.”

“Right.” Lupin blushed. “So, I’d like to volunteer myself to go. Who else?”

“I assume myself, Sirius, Tonks, and Minerva, if she wants to come.” Moody said.

“But that only leaves one person.”

“Uh, and me!” Harry interjected. “If they show up earlier then me and Dumbledore can hold them off.”

Minerva studied him carefully, concern plastered over her face.

“He’s not a boy anymore, Minerva.” Dumbledore said softly.

McGonagall nodded stiffly, and flashed Harry an uncertain smile.

Moody pushed his chair back with a loud scraping noise. “Right, that’s settled then.”

“We’re going now?” Tonks asked, wide-eyed through a mouthful of toast, as the others headed towards the door.

“Bring your toast.” Sirius advised, and the pink haired witch scurried after them, toast in hand.

There was a squeal as Tonks somehow managed to fall over the umbrella stand near the door, an apologetic ‘sorry!’, and then the cabin door closed behind them.

Dumbledore, still seated at the table, patted the seat opposite him, and motioned for Harry to join him.

“I do like a long breakfast, the Muggle way.” He smiled at Harry, who nodded in return.

Albus reached for the newspaper sitting on the table.

“There’s nothing interesting really Sir, just the same Coronavirus situation.”

“Ah Harry, my boy, it’s interesting if you know where to look.”

A few seconds later, Albus was humming happily to himself, looking at a page on knitting techniques to ‘defeat quarantine blues’.

Harry grinned at him over his second bowl of Cheerios. He could get used to this. The twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes seemed to agree. 


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and Dumbledore sat in silence, accompanied by Dumbledore’s low pleasant humming, which seemed to vibrate through the room, and sent little shivers of happiness down Harry’s back.

Harry scraped the last of his cheerios from his bowl, and glanced at the older wizard to see if he could risk licking his bowl clean too. Albus had flicked through the newspaper to the back, and the small smirk of amusement playing on his face suggested he was reading the muggle joke section. Harry smiled to himself; he had grown strangely fond of muggle newspapers, especially as there was no daily prophet through the letterbox, and greatly treasured the joke section at the back.

A low chuckle escaped Dumbledore, and Harry felt a shudder flicker through his body. He felt his cheeks turning pink, and tried to ignore the heat rushing up his face.

“Sir?”

“Albus is just fine, Harry.” The headmaster reminded him, without looking up from the paper.

“Sorry. I just was wondering - what exactly is it that we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Watching and waiting, my boy.”

Harry sighed. He knew Dumbledore would say that, but he wanted to actually do something. Sure, he could get used to sitting down, eating breakfast with Albus everyday, but he’d been stuck in quarantine for what felt like _forever_ , and he’d thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , the others might bring some excitement. What he really wanted was to go out. He almost wanted the Deatheaters to show up just for something to do. He missed magic. Sure, he liked the muggle cereal and muggle newspapers, and his cabin was lovely, but he wanted something _more_.

The older man was studying his face, like he was trying to read his thoughts.

“You’re bored Harry. My company is not enough?” The glimmer of a smile suggested Albus was teasing, but Harry knew he’d probably come across as rude.

“Sorry Sir. It's not that. I like having breakfast with you, and spending time with you, its just- I want to go out there, to _do_ something.”

Dumbledore’s forehead creased. “I’m sure we can think of something within the realms of this cabin. I realise this suggestion may sound … not that appealing, but have you ever thought about muggle cooking or baking? The kitchen is so spectacular it would be a shame to waste it.”

The last time Harry had cooked anything the muggle way, without any magic at all, it had been for the Dursley’s, acting as some sort of slave to them, frying bacon, making sandwiches, baking cakes (although his aunt had prepared all of the ‘occasion cakes’ - as she called them). Many times he’d thought of slipping in poison, or at least a potion to give them boils or something, but he knew he’d be punished even worse if he did. Still, it had been tempting.

“I cooked for the Dursley’s.” Harry told him.

Anger filled the teacher’s eyes; “Horrible people.” He spat, and then, in a softer voice, said, “I am truly sorry Harry, that you suffered at the hands of such abuse. I suspect cooking was nothing compared to the emotional and physical distress you experienced?”

“Yes.” Harry said truthfully. The taunting and bullying from the whole family, not just Dudley, had been, by far, the most scarring.

“I am sincerely apologetic. Had I had know…” Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes glazing over. His usually shining blue eyes had a mist to them, a far-off longing stare.

“ _Albus_?” The professor’s name seemed to roll off Harry’s tongue like a prayer. Harry had never realised how beautiful it sounded.

“Sorry Harry. I was merely thinking I would have perhaps raised you myself. The obvious choice might have been Mr Black, or someone of the Order, but… I don’t know… maybe.”

Harry allowed himself a second to imagine what life would have been like had the headmaster raised him. Probably brilliant. Surrounded by magic before he’d said his first word. Surrounded by people, and love and laughter, and Albus maybe reading to him in that deep, but soft voice-

“The past.” Albus said, bringing Harry back into the room. “The past no longer needs us. But the present does, Harry.” 

‘How could he be so wise? Years of living on this Earth. How old was Dumbledore anyway?’

“Anyway,” Dumbledore continued, “what I really meant was; why don’t we cook together? I confess I don’t have that much experience, but we can muddle through together can’t we?”

Harry grinned at him. “That sounds brilliant, _Albus_.”

The shine had returned to Dumbledore’s blue eyes. “I like the way you say my name, Harry.” 

There was no real trace of flirtation in his words, but a spike of warmth shot into Harry’s stomach.

He tried to reply in the same genuine voice Dumbledore had used: “I like your name.”

Albus smiled at him. “Personally I think my brother received the better name, but thank you all the same.”

‘Ah yes, Aberforth,’ Harry thought. Of course Dumbledore would think Aberforth had the better name. Their relationship was somewhat… strained.

“Well,” Harry said, “I know which one I prefer.” 

Dumbledore chuckled, and then stood, folding the newspaper onto the table.

“What ingredients do you have then?” 


	7. Chapter 7

“You don’t happen to have any flour, do you my boy?” Dumbledore asked, his voice quietened by the opening of packets.

“No,” Harry said from the fridge, scouring its empty shelves, “why would I have flour?”

There was a little huff in reply, and then, “fair point.”

“Any sugar?”

“I think there’s some at the back, Sir.”

“Albus; and yes, I think you’re right Harry.”

“Sorry S- I mean, Albus.”

Dumbledore’s low humming once again filled the room, and Harry smiled to himself.

“Do we need anything else, Albus?”

A rustling came from the cupboard, and then Dumbledore emerged, shaking his head. “Rather a lot, I’m afraid. Is there any way we can pick some up today?”

“Well, I could call one of the shops in town and ask them to deliver us some ingredients.”

Dumbledore beamed at him. “An excellent idea Harry! Do that right away! Let me make a list!”

Harry sat down next to Albus at the kitchen table, trying not to peer at the sheet of paper he was writing on. Faint scratching came from the nib of his quill, followed by the most beautiful loopy handwriting Harry had ever seen.

It read:

  * All-purpose flour
  * Cocoa Powder
  * Baking Powder
  * Semi-sweet chocolate
  * Vanilla extract
  * Sour cream
  * Baking soda
  * Raspberry jam



“Have we got baking trays, and all that?” Dumbledore murmured.

Harry tore his eyes away from the glistening paper. “Erm I think so.”

“That’ll do then!” Dumbledore looked up and winked at him, and Harry’s stomach flipped. He managed to smile back somewhat convincingly.

“I’ll call them now, shall I?”

Dumbledore nodded; “Very good Harry. I’ll be ready and waiting in here.”

While Harry moved to the sitting room to find the telephone, Dumbledore sat at the table and looked around the kitchen. He had to admit, he was fairly nosy, and even though he’d checked out most of the drawers, Dumbledore felt like he hadn’t really observed the room fully.

He was delighted to see that the whole room was very … _Harry_.

Very… cosy. A touch unorganised.

Dirty plates from breakfast were left on the sideboard by the sink, (Albus made a mental note to wash up before the shopping came), and there were presumably unwashed shirts hanging out the washing machine.

He chuckled to himself. _Of course._

Dumbledore stood, and advanced towards the washing machine. He could have simply magicked the offending article into the machine with a wave of his wand, but something told him that would not do.

With care, the man stooped down, picking up Harry’s shirt. It was dark blue, clearly well-worn and loved, and the material felt soft, cotton-like. Albus brushed his fingers down the top, imagining the younger boy wearing it. Today, Harry was wearing a similar style of shirt, only in a rusty red colour. Again, Dumbledore noted, very Harry. Easy, basic, and yet he wore them well… the clothes seemed to just _fit_ on Harry. Perfectly.

Almost too well, Dumbledore thought, before he could stop himself. How many girls threw themselves at Harry…? Some, because of his fame, and title ‘the chosen one’, of course, but some… because… well… Harry was, all things considered, really quite -

“Made the call, Albus!” Harry interrupted Dumbledore’s thoughts, entering the kitchen with a grin.

Dumbledore dropped Harry’s shirt quickly into the machine and turned to face the younger man. “Brilliant Harry. When are the ingredients coming?”

“They should be here in around an hour.”

“That’s great.”

“Oh,” Harry began, a glint in his green eyes, “I managed to pick up some sherbet lemons too!”

Dumbledore’s smile spread, and his blue eyes twinkled at the other man. “You are magnificent!”

He meant it.

Harry laughed, “Thank you, Sir!” And then, "I am the chosen one, after all."

His eyes widened; "So they tell me."

Harry snorted in reply, and Dumbledore said; “Now, shall I show you what we’re making? Or perhaps… you’d like to guess?”


End file.
